Attracted
by PyroTheWereCat
Summary: Romano is a down-on-his-luck college student. So down that his apartment is infested with ghosts. Only a mysterious paranormal investigator can save him and he seems oddly friendly...Hints of Spamano.


Attracted

by Leanna Hoff

In the city of Ashfield there was a shady bar just off the corner of Lynch Street. It was an unpopular venue to say the least. In hopes of drawing attention, the owner plastered the bar's phone number on the billboard above the establishment. If anything this made it less desirable. Some residents of Ashfield claimed they heard a chainsaw when they called the number.

Our story takes place, not in the bar I mentioned, but in a small coffee shop two blocks north. This small coffee shop was in stark contrast to the bar. It was in a good location for starters and always had at least two people in it. It was in this coffee shop a young man called Romano had arranged to meet with a mildly well-known paranormal investigator: Mr. Fernándes.

The meeting was arranged for 3 PM on a cloudy Sunday and Romano had insisted it was of top priority. When he arrived, Mr. Fernándes was waiting for him in a booth by the shop's large front window. Romano approached hesitantly, taking in the man's appearance. He wore a black leather coat, the kind only runway snobs wear, and his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. His curly brown hair was ruffled-looking though Romano was sure he had attempted to comb it. He had coffee in front of him but it was full, as though he had ordered it merely for appearances. He was looking out the window when he addressed Romano, causing the latter to jump.

"Romano, was it?" he said, his voice laced with a hint of a Spanish accent, "Sit down. I don't bite." Romano scoffed as he slid into the booth across the table from Mr. Fernándes.

"What I have in my apartment has that detail taken care of. I haven't slept in days." The investigator turned his head from the window to face him; a warm smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"What is it you have?" he asked. At that moment a waitress had come to their table, pulling a pencil from the pile of dyed red hair on the top of her head to scribble orders on her little white notepad.

"Can I getcha anything, hun?" she offered to Romano, chewing her gum almost distractedly. Romano waved her off, his eyes on Mr. Fernándes.

"No thank you," he said to her then to the investigator, "I'm not really sure what it is exactly. I thought it was just one ghost before but now..." He ran a hand through his tousled dark hair in agitation. "I can't enter a room without something flying across it. Whenever I open a window it slams shut, usually on my fingers. The shower sprays blood instead of water, the walls have some sort of breathing mold growing on them, there are shadows of hanged men in my closet, and I swear I hear a kid crying all the time. It's a _nightmare_." Mr. Fernándes leaned forward, a hand pressed to his mouth as he listened to the troubled man's description. If asked about this encounter now, Romano would swear he waited until the waitress was close enough to hear them again before saying with the enthusiasm of a child,

"Well then what are we waiting for? Let's head back to your place right now!" The waitress shot a glance over at them with widened eyes, Mr. Fernándes in particular. Romano shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Um, shouldn't you get some equipment or something?" he questioned in a low voice. Mr. Fernándes grinned and reached across the table to heartily grasp Romano's shoulder.

"Nah, we got this," he said, "You got candles?" At this point the waitress made a point of moving as far away from their table as possible, her cheeks a bright red. Romano brushed Mr. Fernándes's hand off his shoulder and glared at him.

"What was that act for?" he hissed. Mr. Fernándes merely shrugged and stood, placing a few dollars on the table next to the untouched coffee.

"What act?" He started to leave, not waiting for Romano. "Come on, Romano. If it's as bad as you told me, we don't have much time." Romano shook his head and followed him out the door, beginning to wonder if this was a good idea.

Not many people lived in South Ashfield Heights anymore since the fire six years earlier but if one was a struggling college student (like Romano) it was the city's only option. It was a little run down but affordable. And, for Romano at least, it was haunted. Were money not an issue, he would have moved out after the first wave of activity. But now Mr. Fernándes the paranormal investigator was his only hope for safety and sanity.

The men entered the apartment with caution in case the television decided to tackle them. Mr. Fernándes took the lead, Romano close behind.

"Where is the worst of the activity?" Mr. Fernándes whispered, pulling a small lighter from his coat pocket. Romano pointed at the wall above the couch where a hideous black mold had taken residence.

"If I get too close to that mold my head feels like it's going to explode," he explained, "Then things start moving on their own." Mr. Fernándes nodded once in understanding.

"Where do you keep emergency candles?"

"So you weren't kidding about those. In the bench by the TV." They moved to said bench and lifted the lid to retrieve the candles. As if on cue, a child's crying could be heard, not from any particular place in the apartment, but more from inside the men's minds. Mr. Fernándes removed his sunglasses. He held out the lighter and a candle and approached the sinister-looking mold. With each step they took, Romano felt a migraine building in his head, getting stronger the closer they got to the mold. Once they were no more than two feet before it, Mr. Fernándes lit the candle and thrust it closer to the wall.

"You are not welcome here!" he declared, "Leave this dwelling!" The mold bubbled and swelled. The pain in Romano's head doubled and he collapsed with a short yell. Mr. Fernándes continued to shout at the wall, brandishing the candle like a sword. After what felt like an hour, the pain suddenly ceased. Romano looked up to see the mold shrinking into nothing, returning the wall to its normal, off-white paint. Mr. Fernándes sighed and blew out the flame on the candle. He extended a hand to Romano who took it gratefully.

"How did you do that?" he asked. Mr. Fernándes smiled.

"Easy," he replied, "Ghosts hate candles. A few more of these and you'll be right as rain, my friend. Though...I'd move out as soon as I could if I were you. This place has been crawling with hauntings since that fire. I'm in here once a month ousting ghosts! So anyway, about my fee..."


End file.
